


You're Not The Only One Who Doesn't Want To Be Alone Tonight

by erinn_bedford



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, and chocolate chip cookies, like fluff to the 10th power, over french toast and too much alcohol, so here is a fic about them realizing they like each other, these two are in love and it's valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:56:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erinn_bedford/pseuds/erinn_bedford
Summary: The second after she knocks on the door, she realizes this might be the worst plan she’s ever had. And she was the one who suggested Juliet answered the door when Romeo came to give her flowers, and therefore spawned the most annoying couple in all of history.Or, Ros gets drunk and Ben makes french toast.





	You're Not The Only One Who Doesn't Want To Be Alone Tonight

The second after she knocks on the door, she realizes this might be the worst plan she’s ever had. And she was the one who suggested Juliet answered the door when Romeo came to give her flowers, and therefore spawned the most annoying couple in all of history.

But, in her defense, she’s drunk. Or at least still tipsy by this point, and her apartment is another ten blocks away, and she would have to walk right by Escalus’s house to get there and she can handle than right now. Because he’s home from Italy. He’s home and she hasn’t spoken to him since he broke up with her over text when he was getting on the plane.

It hits her that he might not be home, that the door in front of her will not open, that she will be stuck, 10 blocks from home without a ride, because she already spent her uber money for the month and she really does not want to walk home alone.

The tears roll down her cheeks before she even realizes she’s crying. She’s always been a bit of a weepy drunk, and her state of mind is really not helping.

The door swings open before she can wipe her tears away and Benvolio looks her up and down, his face twisting in confusion.

“Capulet?” His eyes fall on her face. “Are you crying?”

She wipes her cheeks on the back of her wrists, and shrugs. “Can I crash on your couch?”

“What?”

It hits her that he is shirtless, in a pair of low hanging pajama pants, tired circles under his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“It’s like 3 in the morning Capulet.” He yawns and his pajama pants fall even lower, and her cheeks heat up.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

He still hasn’t let her in. He’s eyeing her, his look somewhere between weary and confused.

“How drunk are you?” He wipes his hand down his face and finally moves aside so she can move inside.

“Drunk enough that the last time I checked the time I thought it was before midnight.” She stumbles on her way to couch and he catches her before she falls.

“Jesus Capulet, I thought you were the responsible one.” He gently places her on the couch, and pulls off her shoes before disappearing from her view.

“Escalus is back in town. I might have drunk my sorrows.”

He reappears with a glass of water, and squats in front of her, holding it out to her. “Drink.” He pats her knee before falling onto the couch next to her. “This the guy who left for Italy and broke up with over text.”

“Yep.”

She realizes it’s the first time she’s ever truly been open with Benvolio Montague, but her head is too foggy to think about anything else.

“Why did you come here?” He says after a few moments of silence, after he comes back with another glass of water.

“Not in the mood to handle pity.” She swallows a sip. “And even if we don’t like each other very much, I knew we liked each other enough that you would let me crash on your couch.”

She’s almost positive she catches him smile, a rare occasion when they are in the same room together, and for some reason she wants to take a picture of it and frame it.

“Did you just admit that you liked me Capulet?” He leans away, coming back with his phone. “Can you repeat that? I want to save it for future time.”

She attempts to push his arm away, but misses, the missed momentum and her inebriated coordination sending her hand to his chest, and her body closer to him than she was aiming for.

“Shut up.” she whispers, trying to play it off, but her forehead knocks his chin when she tries to move. She stays where she is. She doesn’t trust herself to move again. And she really doesn’t mind his hands on her skin, stopping her from crashing fully onto him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He moves her slightly, so she is looking at him rather than the floor, his hands disappearing seconds later.

“About how my ex came back from Italy and instead of facing it I got shitfaced drunk and ended up at your apartment? Not really. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About your ex?”

“No. About yours?” She vaguely remembers Romeo mentioning something the other night, and her filter is faulty.

He falls back against the couch, dragging a hand through his hair. “About how I asked her to marry me, and she said yes, and then the next day broke it off, broke up with me without any real reason other than that what we had was more of a game than real to her? Not really.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know all of the details. I wouldn’t have brought it up—“

“Hush Capulet.”

She shivers when his hand brushes over her shoulder. He disappears again, rummaging around in a space she can’t see. He comes back, with a pillow and blanket, helping her lay down so she doesn’t hurt herself.

“You should get some sleep. The asprin is on the table, and I’ll leave you another glass of water.” He pulls back, patting her arm before he does. “And Capulet, next time, call me instead of drinking alone.”

She watches him until he disappears behind a door, and within seconds, she’s asleep, the thought of his smile still on her mind.

xXx

Cinnamon. The first thing she smells is cinnamon. And then she smells the coffee.

Two things her apartment never smell like unless she is the one making it happen.

Something crashes to the floor and curses, and the realization crashes into her harder than the smashed cup.

“Montague!” She bolts up, head swinging, vision blurring, stomach churning before she can get her feet under her.

“There she is.” His face appears before her, his hands balancing her shoulders. The room stops spinning, and then, all she can see is him. “How are you feeling?”

She blinks, confused for a moment. “Terrible.”

He smiles, a split second, and then his hands are gone and Rosaline tries her best to not miss their warmth. “Sounds about right.”

He disappears again, she assumes back to the kitchen to clean up the cup. “Why does your house smell like cinnamon?” She has all the intent to follow him to the kitchen, but she can’t quite seem to get off the couch.

“Because Saturdays are for French toast.”

“Since when?”

“Since I said so. Do you take cream in your coffee?” He says, popping back into her sight.

“What?” He’s gone again before she can pinpoint him.

“Coffee? The drink of tired and hungover people.”

“Very funny. And no.” She goes to stand again. but Benvolio is next to her in an instant, two cups of coffee in his hands. He passes one to her before falling on the couch next to her.

“What about the French toast?” She asks, taking a sip of coffee.

“It needs to cool or you will burn your mouth.” He sips his own coffee, 3 shades lighter than hers.

“I will not.”

He rolls his eyes at her, but there’s a fondness about it, and it feels almost odd, being friendly with the Montague. But he saw her at her lowest point in a while, and still let her crash on his couch and now he was making her breakfast.

She takes another sip of coffee and finally feels like she can stand up without making a fool of herself, but instead, she relaxes into the couch and turns to him.

“Thanks, by the way, for everything.”

“Of course, Capulet. What are friends for?” He smiles at her, longer this time, and she’s no longer drunk and she still wants to frame it.

“So, we’re friends now, are we? Can I record that, for future use?” She teases. And then he’s grabbing her hand and pulling her off the couch, and she’s still a little wobbly so he wraps an arm around her waist until they get to the table.

She digs into the French toast, and almost burns her mouth, because it’s still hot, and Benvolio laughs at her and it might be the most wonderful sound she’s ever heard.

He offers her a ride home, and before she knows it, there sitting in front of her apartment, and she almost doesn’t want to get out of the car.

But she does. And then he’s gone, and she’s left with a whole bunch of emotions that she’s not sure if she’ equipped to deal with.

xXx

There’s an image attachment. Along with his location.

It’s been 2 weeks since Benvolio made her breakfast, and the picture is of a pretty blonde girl she thinks might be his ex, kissing someone else with a caption that say _all my love_.

Rosaline is no expert in love, but even she feels like she’s been slapped in the face.

She makes it to the bar in less than 20 minutes, and when she falls into the seat next to Benvolio, she can quietly hear him sigh in relief.

“Thanks.” He says, his voice hoarse.

“We both know the dangers of drinking alone.” She grabs his drink and takes a sip. “Want to talk about it?”

His head lands on the bar. “She said yes. Then she said no. Then, I’m not ready for a relationship, because apparently us dating on and off for nearly 3 years, with the last year and half being on didn’t count as a relationship. And then, she’s in a new relationship. I know it’s been six months, but.” He shrugs, and turns so he’s looking at her, head in his arms.

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. I mean, look at me and Escalus. If he hadn’t shattered my heart, I never would have quit a job I hated, never would have moved into my own place with Livia, never would have found myself where I am now, never would have showed up at your door at 3 a.m. And it sucks now, but maybe it was the universe telling you, you have better things to come.”

“That was deep, Capulet.”

“I’ve been known to have some depths.” She grabs the bartender’s attention and orders two shots.

“To moving on after terrible break-ups, and to not drinking alone.” She says, and it gets the smallest smile out of Benvolio, which, considering how he looked when she arrived, is a victory.

The alcohol burns her throat, and she checks the time. She hooks her chin on Benvolio’s shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here.” She whispers, and she’s almost positive that she can feel him shiver. She sort of knows how he’s feeling, but she also knows that drinking until you can’t remember doesn’t work.

She grabs his hand before he can wander away from her, and it feels a lot nicer than she originally thought it would.

“Where are we going Capulet?” He’s a little past tipsy and keeps swaying, so she takes his hand and wraps it around her shoulder so she can direct him better.

“Saturday’s are for French toast.” She says, mimicking him.

“It’s not Saturday.”

“It is!”

She leads him toward the corner, and they end up stopped at an intersection.

It’s a particularly bright night, the moon reflecting off every surface, and lighting up Benvolio’s face. She’s looking up at him, a little lost to the fact that they see each other as friends now, and that, with the moon light hitting his face, he might be a little bit too pretty for her poor heart to handle.

In the two weeks since she showed up at his doorstep, she had seen Escalus. It hadn’t gone as bad as she thought it would, but it didn’t go much better. But she had closure now. And in those two weeks, somehow, Benvolio wiggled his way into her life in such a way that made her wonder why they ever disliked each other in the first place.

“What are you staring at, Ros?” Benvolio asks, dragging her out of her thoughts. He’s staring down at her, his arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

“The moon.”

The walk signal blinks, and she moves, causing him to almost trip. They don’t talk much until she pulls him into her favorite diner, and orders them both a plate of French toast.

And then, they are talking about bad relationships, and there’s love songs from the 60’s playing in the background, Benvolio gets syrup on his nose, and Rosaline laughs so hard coffee almost shoots out of her nose.

“You know, Capulet, you are deceptively wonderful.” Benvolio says, making a picture with his leftover syrup.

“Deceptively?”

Benvolio nods. “In the best way. If you were undeceptively wonderful, you would have too many people trying to capitalize on your wonderfulness.”

“Undeceptively is not a word. I think you’re still drunk.”

“And I still think you are wonderful.” He says, leaning across the table. He still has a bit of syrup on his nose and Rosaline still thinks he is too pretty.

“Let’s get you home.” She says, because if she doesn’t say something, she might end up doing something stupid like kissing him.

“So,” Benvolio says, reaching for her hand the second they step outside. “Your place or mine?”

They’re stopped at an intersection again, but there’s no cars driving at this time. The moon is still too bright, and Rosaline’s heart is beating too fast, and before she can answer him, his hand cups her face and his lips brush against her.

He pulls back, but only far enough they she could lick her lips and touch his. “Is this okay?” He whispers, forehead presses against hers. “Because, if not, we can just say I’m still dru-“

She grabs his face in both her hands and pulls him mouth back to hers. He smiles, and her heart skips a beat.

“My place is closer,” He mumbles, not taking his lips off hers.

“Is it now?” Rosaline pulls back just slightly, but Benvolio wraps his arms around her.

“Yes. And I have fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, curtesy of Mercutio.”

“Are they supposed to make me want to come over more?”

“Yes. Everyone loves chocolate chip cookies.” He kisses her again, soft and slow and warm this time, sweet enough to almost make her melt. “Come over, Rosaline. I don’t want to eat chocolate chip cookies alone.”

“Hmm.” She pretends to think it over. “I guess.”

He kisses her again until she’s breathless and then starts to lead them in the direction of his apartment. She’s humming a song they heard in the diner and he’s swinging their hands and Rosaline has chocolate chip cookies and the possibility of waking up in Benvolio’s arms ahead of her.

She needs to stop questioning her supposedly terrible plans, she tells herself when Benvolio smiles at her, because apparently, they lead to some pretty wonderful things.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's day! This has been sitting in my WIPs for months, and the day of love made me want to finish something for my faves. I miss them dearly. Dialogue has not been my friends lately, so I'm sorry if it feels weird in some place. Thank you so much for reading! Title is from Cheetah Tongue by the Wombats.


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